Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures
by MistWraith
Summary: Sammy was resisting potty training with every fiber of his little being. Dean just needed a Plan. The story is complete, just being posted in two parts. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Wish they were.

**A/N**: I have no idea where this insane plot bunny hopped in from, but it was fun to write. Hope you like it. It is complete, but it's being posted in two parts since I'm still editing the second half. That should be up within a week. This part is the shorter part of the two.

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**Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures**

BY: **MistWraith**

Dean grimaced as he picked the offending article up. There was no question: Sammy was the stinkiest kid in the whole world. Maybe the whole universe, which Dean was pretty sure was a lot bigger than even the world. He just _knew_ that he hadn't been like that when he was little. Mommy—he swallowed for a moment, then manfully pushed on--had called him her little angel and while Dean no longer thought he believed in angels, he was pretty damn—he glanced around but Daddy was still reading an old book he'd bought and besides, Dean had only _thought_ the bad word; then again, Dean was pretty certain Daddy could read minds—_darn_ sure that angels didn't stink.

He held his nose as he carried the dirty diaper over to the trashcan and tossed it in. Daddy used to do this once, when Dean was too little, but Dean was seven years and three months old (which made him a big boy now, Daddy said), and it was his _job_ to take care of Sammy and he wouldn't want Daddy thinking he couldn't handle his job 'cause then Daddy would be disappointed in him.

Didn't make him any happier about Sammy's stupid, stinky diapers, though.

A couple of months ago he heard Mrs. Blatnik talking to Daddy. Mrs. Blatnik sometimes babysat for them, when Daddy had to go hunt something that would take him one or two days. She was really, really old, maybe even _thirty_, and she had soft, wrinkly skin and gray hair, and she always smelled like Sammy's powder when she would kiss him, which she _always_ did when she came and when it was bedtime and sometimes just for no reason. Dean hated it when she did that but Daddy says that you should always be polite to older people and to ladies 'specially. Anyway, Mrs. Blatnik said something to Daddy about how it was time Sammy was "potty trained." Dean had asked Daddy about that and Daddy said it meant teaching Sammy to use the toilet and not diapers.

Dean thought this was a _great_ idea but Daddy said he didn't have the time 'cause he had to hunt monsters and that was okay, 'cause Daddy was a superhero and superheroes didn't do this kind of stuff. So Dean figured it was up to him.

Problem was Sammy was _stubborn_—Dean was pretty sure _he_ had never been like that—and just being a brat. Dean had asked his teacher how you potty train a little kid (which Dean wasn't anymore, being seven years and three months old, and that made him a big boy, even if he still needed to stand on a chair to reach Sammy's cereal box) 'cause he wanted to help his Daddy. He didn't tell her that he would really be doing it himself, 'cause he's learned that if he says stuff like that, his teachers get this funny look on their faces and then the people who serve children—Dean wasn't 'xactly sure _what_ they served kids but if anyone asked him, it should be pie—would come and Daddy would get all upset and angry.

His teacher said you had to explain "to the child"—Dean had corrected her, _Sammy_, not "the child"—what he had to do and how to use the toilet and flush it (Sammy could just reach the lever) and tell him it was what big boys did, and that Sammy would be _barrassed_ using diapers at his age (Sammy was almost _three_) when no one else did.

Dean had come home that day determined to get started. Unfortunately, Sammy's favorite word for the last year had been "no" and he wielded it like a weapon every time Dean tried to get him to use the potty. While Daddy always got annoyed with Sammy's "no"-ness, Dean had learned how to usually get around it. Like last Christmas. They had been staying at Pastor Jim's, a friend of Daddy's. Dean liked Pastor Jim. He had lots of patience and always listened to Dean, and sometimes Daddy didn't (Dean felt disloyal just thinking that but it was true). For Christmas, Pastor Jim had bought both him and Sammy these really warm winter jackets, with hoods and everything ,but Sammy for some reason had decided he wasn't going to wear his jacket. _Ever_.

The day after Christmas, Sammy had wanted to go out and play with the neighborhood kids Pastor Jim had invitee over with their parents to build snow people in front of the church, but he still was refusing to put on the jacket. Dean could see thunder clouds building over Daddy's head and so could Sammy, whose lower lip began to tremble, warning of wails about to come. Dean had patted Sammy on the shoulder and told him it was okay if he didn't wear the jacket. From the corner of his eye, he could see Daddy frown and start forward but stop when Pastor Jim placed a hand on this arm.

Dean told Sammy he couldn't go outside unless he was warmly dressed, though he didn't have to use the jacket, and Sammy was feeling so good about getting his way with the jacket, he agreed. Dean had raced off and come back with almost every piece of clothing Sammy owned and he began to layer it on. By the time he was finished, Sammy couldn't bend his arms or legs, or turn his head, which Dean had covered with an old hat of Pastor Jim's that had these stupid-looking flaps on the sides. It came down to Sammy's nose.

With Dean guiding him, Sammy waddled stiff-legged to the porch and down the stairs. Dean told him to "have fun" and went back into the house, though he stayed at the window. A minute later, Daddy and Pastor Jim--both of them smiling now, even Daddy—joined him and they watched Sammy standing right where Dean had left him, unable to lift even one leg out of the snow. Two minutes later, Sammy had gone over like a toppling tree and he lay there, legs and arms outstretched, struggling to get up but practically unable to move. All the other kids began laughing.

By the time Daddy, trying not to laugh too hard, had gone out and lifted Sammy up and carried him back, Sammy's face was a combination of humiliation and fury. After Dean had stripped him down again, he had grabbed the jacket and stormed off to their bedroom, dragging the new jacket behind him, just stopping long enough to pronounce, as if it had been his idea all along, that this was _his_ jacket and it was going to be the only thing he was going to wear outside from now on.

After Sammy had closed the bedroom door, Daddy and Pastor Jim had started laughing, and then Daddy had given him an odd look and muttered, "Scary," though Dean wasn't sure why. Pastor Jim had just patted his head and said, "Clever boy."

So Dean had been pretty sure he could get around Sammy's stubbornness, but his little brother had proven harder to crack this time around. He hadn't shown any interest in giving up his diapers—but then, he didn't have to carry them around or clean himself off, did he?—or in being like big boys, or even in being like "Daddy and me." Finally, Dean has just tried to wrestle Sammy over to the potty, but Sammy had let out shrieks loud enough to scare away a ghost and Daddy had come racing in from the living room, where he had been studying some old book Uncle Bobby had given him, and he had roared at Dean, which wasn't fair at all, since it was Sammy's fault. Later, Sammy had given him a triumphant smile and called him a "poopyhead," Sammy's new favorite word after "no." Dean had seriously considering finding some gypsies, like the ones in a story Uncle Bobby had read them, and seeing if they wanted a little kid wearing really stinky diapers, especially when Sammy began using Daddy as a weapon, winding up to start screaming whenever Dean even suggested using the toilet.

Even telling Sammy that other kids would laugh at him if he kept using diapers because it was only something babies did had no effect. Sammy just jutted out his lower lip—Dean was amazed at how like Daddy he had looked right then—and said that Tommy Bassett's mommy had said not to worry about it and that whenever Sammy was ready was just fine, and that Sammy was _cute_. Dean thought that Mrs. Bassett was very nice and made incredible cookies, but she had to be an _idiot_ and he considered dropping a pile of Sammy's diapers in front of her house to see if she still thought it was cute!

Then he worried that growing up made you stupid, until he remembered that Daddy and Pastor Jim and Uncle Bobby (who Dean was pretty sure was even older than that 'Thuslah guy Pastor Jim mentioned once) weren't dumb at all.

He stared at the diaper he'd just thrown into the trashcan then trudged back to his now-naked and grinning brother. He'd discovered that trying to get Sammy to clean himself up got the same reaction as the idea of using the potty did, and that was something else Dean was getting really tired of. After cleaning Sammy off and helping him get dressed—which was something Sammy insisted he could do himself even though he had no idea what colors should go together—and then setting him down in the living room of the small house Daddy was renting, he went and sat in the kitchen, worrying the potty training problem.

It took a sandwich, three candy bars and a bowl of ice cream—and since Sammy's ears were sharper than a dog's, Dean ended up having to get a bowl for Sammy, too—but finally, Dean had an idea. He just needed the right time to put it into operation.

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**A/N**: Part 2 will be up in a few days. Hope you like it so far!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Nope, still not mine!

**A/N**: Will Dean's nefarious Plan work? Will Sammy ever become toilet trained? Or will the Apocalypse have to wait until Sammy changes his Pampers? Tune in to the conclusion of our story to find out!

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Dean's opportunity came a week later. Mr. Thompson called Saturday night and asked Daddy to come over on Sunday because Mr. Thompson's car wouldn't run right. He was a customer at the garage where Daddy worked when he wasn't hunting, but the garage was closed on Sunday and Mr. Thompson said he and his family had to leave that night on vacation. Daddy hadn't looked happy but Mr. Thompson was a good customer, Daddy said, so they would have to go.

Sammy was pretty happy about it, since he liked playing with Philip and Harold, the Thompson youngest children. As soon as Daddy said they would go, Sammy gave this big beaming smile and asked if they could go "right _now_," but Daddy just laughed and said that the Thompson twins were probably in bed already and that was exactly where Sammy was going "right _now_", then he scooped Sammy up and carried him upstairs, ignoring his younger son's shrill protests.

Dean began his campaign Saturday night not to have to go with them. He waited until he heard Daddy's heavy step on the stairs, then he coughed a few times and rubbed his eyes to make them look red. He had already laid in a supply of napkins and now he picked up one and pretended to blow his nose, just as Daddy came into the living room. Daddy frowned at him.

"You okay, sport?" Daddy asked, and Dean nodded.

"M'okay, Daddy," he said, 'cause that's what he would say if he really _were_ feeling sick. Daddy _needed_ him and he always felt he was letting Daddy down if he got sick.

Daddy frowned some more and Dean knew he was thinking of Mrs. Thompson. Daddy didn't know it, but Dean had once heard him tell Uncle Bobby, who was over helping Daddy with a hunt, that Mrs. Thompson was "batshit crazy when it came to germs," 'cause she had sent Sammy home just 'cause he was sniffling. It was _allergies_ not a cold and dumb Mrs. Thompson had made Sammy _cry_!

Dean didn't like her at all.

If Dean was sick the next day, Daddy knew he couldn't take Dean with him, and Dean would have to stay alone and he'd be able to put his plan into operation. Daddy, though, didn't look happy at the idea of maybe having to leave Dean behind alone and Dean felt badly about upsetting Daddy, but Pastor Jim once said that sometimes you had to do things you didn't like for the "greater good," and Dean couldn't think of any good greater than getting rid of Sammy's stinky diapers.

Daddy made him put his school project away and head up to bed. Dean didn't protest, knowing this would only make Daddy more sure Dean wasn't feeling well.

The next morning, he made sure he coughed a lot and sniffled. Daddy felt his forehead and said he didn't feel warm, but he could be coming down with something and Mrs. Thompson probably wouldn't want to have him over. Daddy had tried to reach Mrs. Blatnick to see if she could stay over but she hadn't answered her phone—Dean breathed a small sigh of relief—and finally Daddy had just shrugged and said, "There's nothing for it, Dean, but I'll have to leave you here alone."

_Yes!_ Dean mentally pumped a small fist into the air.

Twenty minutes later, Daddy had Sammy all bundled up—well, okay, _Dean_ had gotten Sammy all bundled up—and Daddy was standing with one hand on the doorknob of the front door, Sammy held in the crook of one arm. "Okay, dude, you know the drill. If it isn't me, and if I don't give you the password—which is…?"

"Yahweh," Dean replied promptly.

Daddy nodded approvingly and Dean stood a little straighter. "—you don't let me in. I've left the shotgun over there and you have the handgun. Make sure you keep the salt lines intact and if anything happens, or if you hear anything suspicious—anything at all, Dean, you understand me?—you call the Thompsons and get me. Right away, Dean. No fooling around about that. Okay?" Dean nodded and Daddy sighed and muttered, "I really hate leaving a seven-year old alone."

Dean bristled. "Seven years and _three months_."

"Ah, right, I'm sorry, sport. That makes _all_ the difference."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he stared at Daddy suspiciously, looking for any sign that Daddy was making fun of him, but Daddy just looked back blandly. Of _course_, it made all the difference. Just plain old seven years old was only _one_ day older than six.

Sometimes grownups missed the most important stuff.

The sound of the Impala's growl had barely faded before Dean went into action. He'd already put the chain across the door and the chair under the knob, the way Daddy had shown him to do, and he was glad Daddy insisted on taking care like this 'cause it meant Daddy couldn't get in until Dean let him in, so he couldn't sneak back and surprise Dean in the middle of The Plan. Dean raced upstairs and into the bedroom he shared with Sammy. Sammy had moved into a bed not that long ago. Daddy had found it sitting out on the curb in front of somebody's house and had brought it back, and Dean had seen ThunderCats sheets and pillow cases at the thrift shop Daddy had taken them to last month and he'd talked Daddy into getting them for Sammy. They had gone a long way to convincing Sammy it was time for him to have his own bed.

Dean began to mess up Sammy's bed, tossing the blanket around and partly pulling out the sheet. The pillow landed askew on the end of the bed, but not until its lone occupant had been carefully removed. WoofieBoofie held pride of place on Sammy's pillow at all times. WoofieBoofie was a dog-eared teddy bear missing one eye and bearing stitches in more than one place, the marks of repairs done as carefully as possible while a tearful Sammy looked on. He been all bright and new when Dean had picked him out as a gift for his little brother when Sammy was still in Mommy's tummy (not that Dean quite got that part. He couldn't figure out how they'd gotten Sammy in and then out. He figured it was probably the same way they got the ships into the bottles.); he had been left in the Impala the day the fire had taken Mommy away and Sammy wouldn't go to sleep if WoofieBoofie wasn't there.

Dean held the bear gently—he knew Sammy was going to be really, _really_ upset about this and for a moment his resolve faltered but then he thought about the _diapers_, mounds and mounds of them, and he remembered Pastor Jim saying you couldn't make an omelet without breaking eggs and…and WoofieBoofie had just become the egg. He ran back down the stairs with the moth-eaten bear and then into the basement. Sammy _never_ came down into the basement, even when Dean tried to walk down with him. It was always dark down there and a few days after they came to stay in the house, Sammy had gone down into the dimly lit room and had been scared silly when the old, and huge, burner, hidden in the shadows at one end of the basement, had roared to life, accompanied by clanking and a few high-pitched sounds.

Sammy's shriek had been even higher and Dean had never seen him run so fast.

It was a good thing Sammy hated the basement 'cause he was worse than a mouse. There wasn't anything he couldn't—and didn't—get under, over, around or behind. Sooner or later, Sammy would have found Dean's hidey-hole. It's not that Dean had a lot in it—just a few things, really—but Sammy would have wanted to take them out and then he would have forgotten where he put them, or he would have gummed them up. Or he would have decided he really wanted them himself and he would have cried until he got them, which he would have 'cause Dean could never stand to see Sammy cry. Dean didn't blame him when he did stuff like that; Sammy was just a little kid, not even three (not big like Dean, who was seven years and _three_ months), and Sammy just didn't always understand.

Dean pushed an old chest partly away from the wall. Directly behind the chest, which they had found in the basement when they first moved into the house, was a small panel and Dean slid it to one side, revealing an opening. It didn't go back very far inside, but it was enough. When Dean had found the hidey-hole, there was already an old-looking doll sitting at the back. Dean had decided to leave it there. He'd had to leave stuff behind whenever they moved and he knew how badly he'd felt about it. If the doll's owner ever came back looking for it, he wanted it to still be there.

In front of the doll were just a few things. A merry-go-round horse with a painted harness that once had probably been very bright but was now chipped and faded, and with a hind leg missing the bottom half. Daddy had once helped someone he knew from some war or other, with a poltergeist problem, and Daddy's friend had lived on a farm. Dean had stood by the fence and watched the horses run around and he'd thought they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. When he found the little horse statue abandoned on the ground in the park, he'd had to take it home with him.

Next to the horse was a piece of black rock that had something glittery scattered across it. Like the night sky and the stars, and Dean loved to look at it. There were a few toy soldiers Daddy had given to him before the fire killed Mommy and that had fallen beneath the front seat of the Impala.

The last thing in there was a page from a coloring book. Sammy had colored it and given it to Dean for his seventh birthday, along with a big hug, which had been the best part. Sammy had no respect for the lines on the page and his color choice was as mismatched as the colors of the clothing Sammy now insisted he had to pick out each day to wear himself. Last Christmas, Dean had gone looking for Pastor Jim to talk to him about this. Daddy had been researching something that was hurting people in Texas and Daddy never liked to be interrupted when he was working but Pastor Jim was always patient. Pastor Jim had been writing a sermon but he stopped to listen to Dean, who'd told him he was kind of worried about Sammy's eyes, or may even his head, 'cause Sammy couldn't seem to see when the colors were all wrong.

Pastor Jim had looked funny but he'd said gently that it was okay, because Sammy was too young to understand about matching colors and he just picked out the colors he liked. Dean had felt very relieved that it was nothing serious and he had solemnly thanked Pastor Jim and closed the door to the study behind him as he left. He remembered thinking it must have been a very funny sermon Pastor Jim was writing because Dean could hear him laughing through the door.

Dean carefully placed WoofieBoofie in the front of the hidey-hole, then he slid the panel closed and pushed the chest back in front of it. He went back upstairs to the kitchen, ripped a sheet off the pad Daddy kept near the phone and wrote out the note. He walked up to the second floor and place the note on the little nightstand next to Sammy's bed. Then he went back to the kitchen and sat at the table, where he had placed his schoolwork earlier and started on the math work he'd been given. He couldn't do anything else until Daddy and Sammy came home.

Two hours later, he heard the firm thumping at the door that meant Daddy was back. He closed up his books and grabbed the kitchen stool by the vertical handle, dragging it behind him as he went to the door. He placed it below the peephole and stepped up on it, then up on tiptoes to look out. Daddy was standing there, holding Sammy, but Dean knew there were evil things that could pretend to be people you love, so he made no move to unlock the door or move the chair.

"Password," he said firmly. Daddy had told him he couldn't show fear because it could be used against you.

"Yahweh," Daddy replied quickly. Dean studied him and didn't see any flinching or change in eye color. Dean wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but Daddy said it was important to look for when certain words were said.

Dean stayed on the stool to unlock the deadbolt then he jumped off and pulled the stool away, followed by the chair from under the doorknob and then he opened the door. Daddy walked in, still carrying Sammy, who gave a big smile when he saw Dean. Daddy carefully put Sammy down on the floor and Sammy hurried over, starting to babble about some toy Phillip and Harold had, all the while clutching at Dean's shirt with a hand that definitely had traces of chocolate on it.

"That's really great, Sammy," Dean said then he changed his expression to look very sad. "Sammy, something happened and you need to come upstairs to the bedroom right away."

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Daddy straighten up and frown, but Dean pretended he didn't see it and he took Sammy's hand and hurried toward the stairs before Daddy could say anything. When they got to the room, Sammy took in the disheveled bed and his eyes grew round.

"Dean, wha' happened?" he asked fearfully.

Dean could hear Daddy start to move forward so he quickly said, "It was Captain Hook, Sammy. And his pirates."

If possible, Sammy's eyes grew even rounder and his mouth formed a perfect "o." Dean glanced over his shoulder. Daddy had stopped now in the doorway and he was looking at Dean in puzzlement. Dean widened his eyes and sort of _thought_ at Daddy, willing him to get the message Dean was trying to send. Daddy was pretty smart, but sometimes he wasn't very good at getting Dean's messages. Daddy gave him an odd look but he didn't say anything.

"I never even heard them come in, Sammy; I'm sorry. Heard 'em leave and ran up but I was too late."

Sammy was still staring at him. "What did Cap'n Hook want, Dean?" he squeaked.

Dean shuffled one foot. "I'm sorry, Sammy. He took WoofieBoofie."

Sammy's pudgy little hands flew to his mouth and he ran over to his bed, looking around wildly. Dean felt terrible but he couldn't back out now. It was too important.

"So, dude, the pirates took WoofieBoofie?"

Dean turned slightly. Daddy was now leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest. Dean couldn't quite read his expression, but he nodded vigorously. Daddy just said, "Interesting"; Dean thought his lips twitched, though.

Dean went over to Sammy, who was now looking under the bed, and patted his back. "Sammy, I looked everywhere. He's not here. But they left a note."

Sammy's head shot up. "They did?"

Dean gestured to the piece of paper on the nightstand. Daddy stayed where he was but leaned forward to glance at the note.

"Pirates write in block letters," Daddy said blandly. "I didn't know that."

"Pirates know how to _write_, Daddy," Dean said with some asperity. He was pretty sure that Daddy was poking fun at him and he figured that if Daddy was too busy to help Dean get Sammy to stop using diapers, then he shouldn't make fun of Dean for doing something about it.

Dean felt a tug on his shirt and he looked down to see Sammy looking up with a tear-stained face. Dean felt his heart clench a little, he hated to see Sammy cry. "Wha's it say, Dean?"

Dean picked up the note. "It says that when I throw your diapers away, they go to Never Never Land. I didn't know that, Sammy," Dean added solemnly.

"Me, too, Dean. How'd they do that?"

"Yeah, sport, how _do_ they do that?"

"I guess it's _magic_, Daddy." Dean glared at his father, then turned back to Sammy. "You remember that fairy dust that Wendy, Peter and Michael used? From Tinkerbelle?" Sammy nodded so many times Dean was afraid his head might fall off. "Maybe that's how." Dean looked back at the note. "Captain Hook says he doesn't want any more smelly diapers so he took WoofieBoofie hostage."

Sammy wound both hands into Dean's shirt. "Dean, is he gonna make WoofieBoofie walk the plank?"

Dean remembered that Sammy always hid his eyes at this scene in the movie and he put one arm around his brother. He totally _ignored_ Daddy's snort from the doorway. "No, no, Sammy. That's not what he wants." He waved the note. "He says he wants you to stop using diapers. He'll give WoofieBoofie back in two days if you do. But," Dean's voice took on a warning note, "you have to stop _forever_ or he'll take WoofieBoofie away again."

"I will, I will!" Sammy said. Then a look of grim determination came over his face and he grabbed Dean's hand and began to pull Dean toward the door. "Come, Dean!"

"Where we going, Sammy?"

Sammy looked at Dean as if his older brother had lost his mind. "To the potty! Show me how! Now!" he ordered.

"Sure. Let's go, Sammy." His little brother ran from the room and Dean followed more slowly, a smile growing on his face.

As he passed his father, Daddy said, "Nice job, sport. Though…scary."

Dean wondered why Daddy kept saying that.

It all worked like a charm. Sammy threw himself into potty training with the same determination he used to find anything he thought Dean was hiding from him. He even insisted Daddy take all the unused diapers in the closet and throw them away, but Dean knew Daddy actually gave them away to the lady who lived with her kids in a rundown house at the end of the road. They were even poorer than the Winchesters were and two of the kids were young enough to still need diapers. Dean thought it was a really good idea.

Two days later, Sammy was an expert at using the potty and, true to his word, Captain Hook returned WoofieBoofie. Sammy woke up to find his beloved bear sitting on the nightstand. He then proceeded to wake up the entire neighborhood with his screams of joy. Dean, who'd already gotten washed and dressed, grinned at the way Sammy clutched the stuffed bear to him, promising WoofieBoofie it would never happen again 'cause he would always, _always_ use the potty.

_Yes!!!_

Sammy held WoofieBoofie out. "See, Dean? He's back!"

Dean laughed and ruffled Sammy's hair. "I see, Sammy. Why don't you get dressed? I'm gonna make breakfast."

He paused in the doorway and glanced back at his brother. "And maybe later, Sammy, I can show you what colors go together."

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_**Epilogue**_

Sam realized he was staring at Dean with his mouth open as Dean pulled into the parking lot and turned the Impala's engine off. Dean insisted on stopping at "Maisie's Diner and Pie Emporium" whenever they were anywhere nearby; Sam had to admit that Maisie's pies were incredible.

Right now, though, pie was not on his mind. His feelings alternated between annoyance—which was pretty stupid when he thought about it, since it all took place over twenty years ago—and disbelief. Annoyance won the first round.

"You stole a two-year old's favorite possession!" Sam said indignantly.

"Sam, were you not listening?" Dean asked, with a grin. "It wasn't _me_, it was Captain Hook! And you know how bad pirates can be!"

Disbelief took Round #2. "I can't believe I fell for that!"

"For a smart kid, you could be pretty stupid." Dean reached out and patted Sam's arm soothingly. Then his expression turned thoughtful. "Not too different as an adult, come to think of it." His smile widened as he stepped out of the car and closed the door behind him. "You should thank me. If it weren't for me, you would've been the only student at Stanford still wearing diapers!" He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Sam scowled at him. "Nice to know at least one person in the universe thinks you're funny!"

"There!" Dean crowed, pointing at Sam. "There's the bitchface I was waiting for!" Then he leaned in through the open driver's window, resting his arms on the frame. "Sammy, the tragedy of our lives is that the whole damn Universe thinks we're a joke!" He straightened up and a beatific expression came over his face. "I'm getting me some pie."

Sam watched his brother walk toward the diner and he shook his head, a smile playing across his lips, astonished at Dean's little burst of philosophy. Though by now, he should _expect_ Dean to surprise him. Oxymoron notwithstanding.

Not that he was letting this go. No way. As he exited the car, his smile turned nasty. No one stole his favorite plushie—well, okay, his two-year old self's favorite plushie—and got away with it scot-free, even if it did result in his not wearing diapers at Stanford, something he had to admit he appreciated.

WoofieBoofie _would_ have his revenge.

**~Fin~**

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**A/N**: I have no idea where this plot bunny hopped in from (or what it was smoking!), but it seemed like too much fun to pass up. Please let me know what you think.


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